Percy Jackson and the Hunger Games
by Athena Sage
Summary: Percy and Annabeth accidentally go a few hundred years into the future and arrive at the 74th Hunger Games. They are left clueless and vulnerable. Are the odds in their favor?
1. Prologue

**Hey guys, this is just another new story. I've been coming up with so many ideas recently and this is one of them that I managed to write out... Please R&R! All constructive criticism is welcome!**

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**A big thank you to my AWESOME Beta Blackcurse11 for helping me with this chapter!**

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**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games and Percy Jackson series all belongs to the great and awesome authors. I'm just a 13 year old girl who loves to write fanfiction!**

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_Prologue_

"Mother, please help me," Annabeth pleaded with her mother, desperately scanning her surroundings for any sign of danger. She searched the area for Percy, he was not back yet. Was he dead? She wanted to scream his name, to run through the dense forest and find him, kiss him. She wanted to feel him again, assure herself that everything was fine, that he was not dead and that they could make it out of this mess.

Bang! The sound of a canon filled the air and Annabeth winced when she heard it. It couldn't be...right? Tears started to engulf her vision and blurred so much that she couldn't see more than five feet away from where she stood. The canon somehow had instilled that very feeling that she loathed the most. Helplessness. She wanted to cry, just stay there and cry, but she knew that she had to find Percy. He couldn't be dead, he's stronger than that, much stronger.

"Percy!" She cried, forgetting for a moment where she was, forgetting the amount of danger he was in. She had to find him, had to be assured that he was alright. She had to, she just had to. She thought that by calling his name she would feel assurance, but she felt none. Instead, she realized what she had just done, she had called danger to her front door. And now, she was in grave danger.

Another cannon fired and the tears in Annabeth's eyes increased. She knew she was not thinking rationally, she knew she was overreacting, but the worry consumed her and broke her. Now, she just wanted to rush into Percy's open arms. Go back to Camp Half-blood like none of this ever happened, she wanted to go back to having the time where she was fighting monsters with Percy with a chance of survival. But no, she was here now and there was nothing she could do about it.

Percy could not be dead right? They said that he would survive this. Rachel said that he would survive this. Now Annabeth was doubting that, could they survive this? Maybe not. The odds were never in their favor since the minute they stepped into this arena. All that crap.

Annabeth heard a rustle in the bushes and she raced forward as fast as she could, expecting Percy. And then, her neck was met with the tip of a sword.

"Don't move," a girl warned, her face concealed by the shadows. Annabeth could not breath, she felt suffocated by the sharp sword threatening to slit her throat. "I know your boyfriend helped me before, I don't want to hurt you."

Annabeth stiffened at the word 'boyfriend'. "Who are you and why are you doing this?"

"My name is -" She was cut off by the sound of yet another cannon, but she stepped out of the shadows.

The girl lowered her sword hurriedly and grabbed Annabeth's hand.

"Come with me, we've got to go."

She didn't know what was it about the girl that was currently holding Annabeth's wrist and pulling her along, Annabeth just somehow knew she could trust her. But she also knew that she had to be cautious, after all, looks can be deceiving. And that definitely applies in this situation she was in.

At the moment, Annabeth just wanted to get out of there, of course while having Percy by her side. She could barely recall how she found herself here, it all happened so quick. It happened too quickly.

**Did you guys like it? If you did please follow. I mean pressing that button is not so hard, right? And since this is my first Hunger Games and Percy Jackson crossover, I'll need your thoughts on this chapter. Please tell me how you feel about this chapter through the reviews!**

**Toodles,**

**AthenaSage**


	2. Arthur (Bonus Chapter Corrected)

**Hi guys, this is the next chapter! I accidentally posted the wrong chapter so this is the right one. Sorry! Actually, it's also a bonus chapter so it doesn't actually go in sequence with this story. This is just something that I decided to add in. I'll be emphasizing on it later once the Hunger Games begin. I hope you guys enjoy this bonus chapter! **

**I've also decided that I'll have a fixed day for updating. I'll update on Saturday or Sunday.**

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_** Day 2 of the Hunger Games**_

_** Outside District 11**_

_**Foothill of a nearby mountain**_

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_She's so lovely, so fragile. _Those haunted eyes. Those rosebud lips…they'll scream so prettily.

I gaze out my door's peephole, willing the girl to come closer. A _female _so near! _Come to me._

Under the moonlight, she paces the sidewalk fronting my charred Victorian home, wrestling with the decision of whether to approach.

Chill winds toss her heavy mane of blond hair. She wears frayed jeans, battered hiking boots, and has hands buried in the pockets of a threadbare hoodie.

Her clothes were no match for the temperature outside, which has only recently dropped to the agonizing cold of winter. The weather _worsens _as summer nears…

She glances up. Has she caught the food scents carrying from my home? I have canned beef stew simmering atop a wood-burning stove. Does she note the smoke curling from the chimney?

She looks hungry; all those that walk towards my 'home' are always hungry.

Everything about my lair is meant to lure her to me. If the brightly glowing kerosene lantern isn't enough of a beacon for wanderers from the various districts, I have a poster-board sign pinned by the door: HOT MEALS, SAFE SHELTER, JUST TELL ME YOUR STORY.

My house is ideally situated in the middle of the forest, far from the prying eyes of the officers from the Capitol. Most of my guests tell me that they were escaping from the districts. This girl obviously is as well.

I had seen this girl from a distance, glancing around and taking in her surroundings anxiously.

Now she stills, looks straight at the door. Her mind is made up. I can see it in the set of her slim shoulders.

As she nears the front entrance, I make out her features more distinctly. She's maybe a couple of inches over five feet tall. Her willowy figure and delicate face tell me she can't be more than sixteen. But the hint of womanly curves I detect beneath that hoodie indicates that she's older.

Her eyes are a cornflower blue—the color bold against her pale cheeks—but they're anxious and distracted.

She hesitates to set foot on the front porch. _No, come to me!_ After taking a deep breath, she makes her way to my door; I shudder in anticipation, a spider poised on its web.

If I can get her inside, she will be trapped. The interior half of the doorknob is missing; the only way to open it is with my pliers. The windows are made from clear sheeting, unbreakable. All the other doors to the outside are nailed shut.

She raises her hand and knocks lightly, then retreats a skittish step. I wait for several seconds—an eternity—then stomp my feet as if I'm approaching.

When I open the door with a broad smile, she relaxes a touch. I'm not what she was expecting. I don't look much older than my early twenties.

Actually, I'm younger. Closer to her age, I'd imagine. But the weather has taken its toll on my skin.

Ah, but my mind feels ancient._ A wise man in the guise of a boy._

"Please come in out of the cold," I tell her, opening my arm wide. "Look at you—you must be freezing!"

She warily peers inside, gaze darting from wall to wall. The interior is cheery, candlelit. A homemade quilt stretches over a couch arm. A rocking chair sits directly in front of the crackling fire.

My lair looks safe, warm, and grandmotherly.

The girl eyes that rocking chair and fire with longing, yet her muscles are still tensed to bolt.

Feigning sadness, I say, "I'm afraid it's just me…" I trail off, letting her make her own assumptions.

_Pity me. Until I bring you into my dungeon._

At last, she crosses the threshold! To keep from roaring with pleasure, I bite the inside of my cheek until the tang of blood hits my tongue. Somehow I manage an even tone when I tell her, "I'm Arthur. Please take a seat by the fire."

Her fragile form is trembling, her eyes stark as she gazes up at me. "Th-thank you." She heads for the rocking chair. "I'm Katie."

Behind her, I furtively pocket my pliers and close the door. As it clicks shut, I smile.

_She's mine_. She will never leave this place.

Whether she remains alive or dead within depends on her. "Are you hungry, Katie? I've got stew simmering. And maybe a cup of hot drink?" I can all but hear her salivating.

"Yes, p-please, if it's not too much trouble." She sits, raising her hands to the flames. "I'm starving."

"I'll be right back." In the kitchen, I ladle stew into a bowl, arranging the dinner carefully on a TV tray. It's her first meal with me. It must be perfect. In things like this, I am fastidious. My clothing is spotless, my hair neatly combed. My organized sleeve of scalpels sits tucked in my blazer pocket.

The dungeon, however, is a different story. Dirty and filled with the wanderers that had come to me for help. Oh, those poor souls had been so desperate and had fallen straight into my trap. Now they stayed there, my prisoners.

Beside the bowl, I add a steaming cup of cocoa, made from my dwindling water stores. From the sugar dispenser, I pour one teaspoonful of white powder—not sweetener. With each sip of her drink, she will relax more and more until her muscles fail her, yet her consciousness will remain.

Unmoving yet aware. It's important that she experience our communion fully. My homemade concoctions never fail.

In fact, it's time for my own elixir. I collect a stoppered vial from my cabinet, downing the clear, sour contents. My thoughts grow even more centred, my focus laser-sharp.

"Here we are," I say when I return. Her eyes go wide at the bounty. When she licks her plump bottom lip, the tray rattles in my quaking hands. "If you'll just grab that stand . . ."

She all but lunges to help me set it up, and in no time, she's digging in. I sit on the couch—not too close, careful not to crowd her.

"So, Katie, I'm sure you saw the sign out front." She nods, too busy chewing to utter an answer. "I want you to know that I'm delighted to help you. All I ask is that you share some information with me." And cry as I touch you, flinch whenever I near you. "I'll like to listen to your story."

She eyes me cagily as she finishes her stew. "What would you want to know?"

"I'd like you to tell me how you escaped your district. And then how you coped."

She reaches for her mug, raises it, and blows across the top.

_Drink, little girl._

When she takes a sip, I release a pent-up breath. She's drinking a toast to her own doom, to our beginning.

When I rise to remove the tray, she snatches her mug, holding it close to her chest. "Katie, I've got more in the kitchen. I'll bring back a whole pot of it."

By the time I return with a pot and my own mug, she's finished her drink. Her hoodie is now wrapped around her waist, and as she stokes the fire, her short-sleeved T-shirt moulds to her breasts.

I clench my mug handle so tightly I fear it will break. Then I frown. I'm not usually so lustful of my subjects. Mixing business with pleasure is…messy. But her allure is intoxicating.

She returns to her seat, breaking my stare. "Why do you want to know about me?" Her voice has a drawling southern lilt to it.

After clearing my throat, I answer, "Anyone who makes it here has a story of survival to tell. You included." I take my spot on the couch. "I want to know about your life."

"Why?"

_To get a baseline history on my prisoner._ Instead I say, "Just to know you better."

Over the rim of her mug, she murmurs, "I, I don't belong in this time."

"How do you mean?" I lean forward and listen intently. She doesn't seem to mind.

"I never had a home in this time."

"Where was your home?" I ask, nearly sighing as I gaze at the girl. Her lids have grown a touch heavier, and the blond waves of her hair shine in the firelight. She smooths the silken length over her shoulder, and I catch the faintest hint of her scent—sublime, flowery.

"My home was in Louisiana, on a beautiful sugarcane farm called Haven." She leans back in the chair, gazing dreamily up at the ceiling, remembering. "All around us, there was a sea of green cane stretching forever."

Suddenly I find it imperative to know everything about this girl. Why is she alone? How could she have made it this far north with no male protecting her?

I realize she must've only recently lost her protector—which is why a girl this fine would be alone.

_My gain._

"How were things at your home? You can tell me." I give her an earnest nod.

She takes a deep breath and nibbles her lip. In that moment, I know she's made the decision to tell me everything.

"Arthur, I...I'm not a normal human." She looks up at me from under her lashes, gauging my reaction while seeming to dread it.

I just stop my jaw from dropping. "Not a_ normal_ human?"

"I go to a special camp for…for special children."

A special camp for special children? Were there even any?

"I can't believe I'm confiding this." She frowns, and then whispers, "I couldn't tell him my secrets."

_Him_—her previous protector? I must know these secrets!

She gives me a soft smile. "Why do I feel so at ease with you?"

_Because a drug is at work even now, relaxing you._ "Please, go on."

Katie meets my gaze. "I'll tell you my entire story. And I'll try to remember as much as possible. But, Arthur…"

"Yes?"

Her eyes are glinting, her expression ashamed. So exquisitely wretched. "You may not believe me…but, I'm from the past."

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**Did you guys like this bonus chapter? Well, if you're wondering who is the 'she', it is Katie Gardner. I hope you guys liked this chapter. If you did, please review and follow! Also, check out my other stories via my profile page.**

**Next update: Saturday or Sunday**

**Toodles, **

**Athena Sage.**


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